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Friday, 28 November 2014

Olympia SM2: Bought in London in 1954, Serviced in Canberra in 2014

As implied in my post yesterday on the Torpedo 15a, I don't get the chance to "play" with "new" typewriters very often these days. By "new", of course, I mean particular typewriters that are "new" to me. As I am no longer buying any typewriters for myself, the ones I do get to "play" with more often than not belong to someone else, and have been brought over here to be serviced.
Just such a portable is this lovely grey Olympia SM2. A Canberra gentleman called Doug, who turns 94 next March 19, bought the Olympia just before he left England to return to Australia on the Orient Line in March 1954, after three years' service with the Royal Air Force. If I could read the little shield decal on the front of the Olympia, I might know which store Doug bought it in, but he says it was definitely in London. And it was distributed by Olympia Business Machines Co Ltd of 71 New Oxford Street WC1.  This became "Brunsviga Olympia" in 1956.
*PS: Thanks to Nick Bodemer's sleuthing, we can now positively identify this shield as the trademark of typewriter dealers Thrale & Beaumont, Central House, Kingsway, London WC. Here is a clearer image of the decal, taken from photos of an old Underwood standard for sale on eBay in Italy.
*"My wife owns an electric," said Doug, "but I refuse to touch the thing!"
I'm glad Doug, when he picked up his Olympia this morning, cleared up for me when he bought it, as I thought he'd told me 1953, and a check of the serial number, 669919 (which is also on the carriage), indicated this typewriter was made after 1953. In fact, the serial number database would suggest 1955, but Doug is adamant it was bought in 1954, close to his 33rd birthday, and I can say with total confidence that his mind is as sharp as a tack. 
This ad for the same model appeared in the Sydney Sun-Herald on July 18, 1954
I advised Doug than when his typewriter is put in storage, he should pull the platen release knob forward. "No need," retorted Doug. "I intent to keep typing with it, not put it in storage!"

Thoughts on the Death of Phillip Hughes

A young Australian man, Phillip Joel Hughes, just days short of his 26th birthday, was killed playing cricket on Tuesday. One leading cricket official has said his death brought an awful reality to the much overused word "tragedy". Many euphemisms have been used in the past 16 hours, all naturally aimed at lessening that awful reality. The harsh truth is that Phil Hughes was killed playing our most popular organised sport, not just in the middle of one of our most beloved sporting arenas, but in front of a group of some of his closest friends and admirers, teammates and opponents, a sprinkling of spectators and a live television audience. That's what happened. No point in shying away from it. A rock-solid 160 gram cricket ball, moving at probably more than 50 miles an hour, hit him on the neck below and behind his left ear, compressed and split his vertebral artery, and caused massive bleeding to his brain. He collapsed on to the grass in the centre of the Sydney Cricket Ground, never regained consciousness, and died in a Sydney hospital last evening.
The entire nation is, we are assured, in deep shock and mourning. The Prime Minister has led wave upon wave of messages of sympathy. Flags are being flown at half-mast. International and domestic cricket matches have been suspended. TV and online news broadcasts and print newspaper pages are saturated with stories of Hughes's death. Did this happen when Emile Griffith beat Benny Paret to death in the ring at Madison Square Garden in March 1962? No? Well, this is not a "contact sport", yet it's still a professional, organised "pastime", one we tend to cherish - in the form of its fast bowling - as at least bordering on gladiatorial.
It's estimated that as many as 153,000 people die in the world each day. Many die in such appalling circumstances that it's almost impossible to get one's head around that terrible figure, let alone one's emotions. So why has the death of Phil Hughes cut so deep into the hearts and minds of Australians? 
Among cricket enthusiasts, Hughes was, without doubt, a much-liked young man. He exemplified all those attributes that Australians like to fool themselves into believing they share - quiet modesty mixed with a certain bravado, stoicism with a swagger, a natural athletic ability to match a "never say die" attitude. As if using Rudyard Kipling's If as his credo: "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same..." Like Bradman, he was a "country kid", in his case from a small New South Wales town (Macksville) with which I am so familiar. Best of all, he was a "fighter", and a bloody good cricketer, an exciting batsman. 
Cricket is our one true national sport. It is to us what baseball is to Americans, a part of our culture, a national institution. Australians love nothing more than to bask in the glory of the success that our national team - of which Hughes has been a part - brings in Test matches against those few other cricket-playing nations. The traditional foe is England, the "old enemy".  Last summer I was one of hundreds of thousands of Australians, sitting on the edge of my couch in front of a TV set, in the safety on my lounge room, yelling my approval as an Australian fast bowler, Mitchell Johnson, came steaming down the wicket to bowl balls at close to 100 miles an hour, short-pitched "bouncers" aimed to rear up sharply at the heads of the English batsmen.  It was called "intimidatory" bowling, and it was massively successful. We won back "The Ashes". Like those tens of thousands who were at the Test match grounds watching Johnson bowl, we roared our encouragement and cried out to see English blood spilled on to our sporting pitches. Later, in South Africa, Johnson drew blood from Ryan McLaren's ear, then broke his arm. We cheered him on. We were no better than the heathen Romans who cheered on the lions.
It all got so silly that English TV host Piers Morgan implied his country's cricketers were quivering cowards when they faced Johnson, and put himself in front of 100mph deliveries from Australian fast bowler Brett Lee. Lee left Morgan with a broken rib and a body black and blue with bruises. New Zealand cricketing great Sir Richard Hadlee called the ridiculous exercise "life-threatening". Only now do we realise how accurate that was.
The ball that killed Phil Hughes
Now, I feel, there's a tinge of guilt sweeping this nation, almost as if we feel a hint of blood on our hands. Phil Hughes's death is being described as a one in 10 million chance "freak accident". But somehow I can't escape the feeling that it might be seen as perhaps almost inevitable. There can be no doubt that we absolutely love whatever gladiatorial aspect can be brought to this ancient and genteel sport, the "gentleman's game" of cricket. And that aspect is fast, intimidatory bowling, once condemned in this country - when used by Englishmen and called "Bodyline". Since that time, batsman have adopted protective helmets. But the one thing to emerge from Hughes's death is that those helmets are still less than adequate in the face of bouncers, deliveries designed to strike fear into the hearts of batsman, that awful fear of being hit with the force of a bullet to the head. Even at one in 10 million, the odds against death are too slim.
The bottom line here is simple: Sports ceases to be sport when people get killed playing it. That's what we must face up to.

Revived: Torpedo 15a Portable Typewriter

Just as I was lamenting not having used one of my own typewriters for such a long time, an email arrived from a young lady called Kerry at the National Library who had bought herself a Torpedo. She wanted to thank me for "a treasure trove of interesting and useful information" about the Torpedo line.
This got me thinking about the dwindling number of Torpedos left in this house - and one in particular. My 1937 Torpedo 15a (serial number 267948) has been sitting around for such a long time, pleading with me to fix its seriously floppy carriage, that I finally felt compelled to do something about it. Five minutes later it was working as new. I just don't know what took me so long.
In 1927 Carl Witherling and Herbert Etheridge introduced segment shift to the Torpedo 6 standard and Etheridge adapted the design for Torpedo portables, starting with the Model 15 in 1931. An improved version, the Model 15a, came out later the same year.
The heavier Model 16, introduced in 1933, was the last Torpedo portable designed before the takeover by Remington Rand.
I was really surprised to find that the first Torpedo portable imported into Australia was a Model 12 which was shipped into Newcastle away back in February 1925. It was brought into the country by Cyril Vaughan Ell (1890-1972, below), who was the Stott & Hoare branch manager in Newcastle.
Four years later Model 12s were being advertised at Christmas gifts in Launceston, Tasmania. Model 12s, sold in Newcastle, Launceston and Geraldton in Western Australia, were the only Torpedos available in this country until after World War II.
The classic Model 18 ("incomparable" is right!) was introduced to the US market in the mid to late 1950s, followed by the Model 20. Remington closed production in Frankfurt in January 1967.

Thursday, 27 November 2014

Go, Bing!

Bing Crosby bangs out some racy copy on a Royal standard typewriter in the press box at the Del Mar Turf Club in California.
Feeling pretty chuffed right now because our sports history group has just won $6000 for brain tumor research by taking out the Australian Capital Territory sports quiz at Woden. The $6000 was first prize in the annual charity event and goes to our nominated cause. 
We only won by a question or two and I think I did my bit to get us over the line by correctly answering the question: "Which leading 20th Century entertainment figure part-owned the Pittsburgh Pirates when they won the World Series in 1960?"
Maybe I was the only one in the packed $400-a-table auditorium to say "Bing Crosby". Don't ask me how I knew it, I just did! It's one of those things that somehow, sometime gets stored away in the memory banks and pops out when most needed.
From 1946 until the end of his life in October 1977, Crosby part-owned the Pirates. Although he was passionate about his team, he was too nervous to watch the deciding Game 7 of the 1960 World Series, choosing to go to Paris and listen to the game on the radio. Crosby had the NBC telecast of the game recorded on kinescope. Crosby viewed the complete film just once, and then stored it in his wine cellar, where it remained undisturbed until it was discovered in December 2009.
A younger Bing on an earlier Royal portable
Gee, thanks Bing!

Tuesday, 25 November 2014

John Adams Payne: Cincinnati's Pioneer of Typewritten Wire News

In a grave at the Spring Grove Cemetery in Cincinnati lies the pioneer of typewritten wire news copy, John Adams Payne. Nashville-born Payne died in Cincinnati on May 23, 1924, aged 64.
An 1882 Caligraph, just like the one John A. Payne used. This one comes from the Martin Howard Collection.  Martin lives in Toronto, Canada, but was born  (in 1959) in Durham, England, just south of where the Taltavall brothers were born, in North Shields. Martin found this Caligraph in 1989, "high upon a shelf in a cluttered junk shop, a very dusty but intriguing item", and instantly became hooked on collecting typewriters.

The full story of how this happened appeared in The New York Times on June 8, 1924:
John Payne had another claim to lasting fame:
The other main players in Ernest V.Chamberlain's New York Times story include:
Thomas Ronald Taltavall, born North Shields, England, May 30, 1855; died Mahwah, New Jersey, September 2, 1918:
His brother, John Bartholomew Taltavall, born North Shields, England, January 21, 1857; died East Orange, New Jersey, May 27, 1926.
Addison Charles Thomas, born Richmond, Indiana, July 14, 1851; died Oak Park, Illinois, January 23, 1923:
Edward Payson Porter, born Sag Harbor, New York, 1834; died Ashbury Park, New Jersey, April 26, 1916. One of the very first men to test a prototype of the Sholes & Glidden typewriter, in the summer of 1868. He was the proprietor of a school for telegraphers in Chicago at the time.
I have failed to find any information on A.M.Barron.

Monday, 24 November 2014

The Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter: The $15 million 'Famous Fake'

In fact, it was
downright crooked ...
- Munsey's Magazine, 1912
Note that "Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter" has been superimposed on this engraving. In reality, it never appeared on any device.
Burlingame's "invention" was actually based on Adolph Schaar's Tel-Autoprint.
This booklet was part of the promotional campaign launched in California in 1908 for the highly-fraudulent Burlingame telegraphing typewriter enterprise. The contents came nowhere telling the truth about Burlingame and his fake machine. The real invention, by Adolph Schaar of Oakland, California, was illegally acquired in the first place. Robert Cleveland was commissioned to write and put his name to this nonsense.
Elmer Allah Burlingame did prove his ability to transmit words from one place to another, in LaPorte, Indiana, as early as November 29, 1903. He was "pronounced to be of the devil", but he didn't use a telegraphing typewriter for this purpose: 
By the genius of Elmer Burlingame, a LaPorte boy, the sermon preached Sunday by the Reverend Dr D. H. Cooper, pastor of the First Baptist Church, at Peru, was heard in Logansport, Wabash, and by dozens of people in Peru. Previous to the meeting no announcement of the innovation was made. A transmitter was placed in front of the pulpit and connected with the Home Telephone Company's exchange, where Burlingame was waiting to ascertain the success of the experiment. When it was learned that the arrangement was working satisfactorily, friends in Peru and other cities were called up. It is said that the clergy are alarmed at this but they need not be. They fear that such inventions will increase the habit of non-church-going which is already so prevalent. But there is a power of sacrament and an atmosphere of worship which cannot be transmitted over telephone wires, and which can be received only by one's personal presence in the congregation, and this will come to be understood.
- LaPorte Argus-Bulletin, December 2, 1903
And the telegraphing typewriter he took from San Francisco back to LaPorte five years later was far from being entirely his own work.
In the interim, Burlingame had had more than a little help from his West Coast "friends". Those "friends" had used illegal means to incorporate Burlingame's work with that of a Californian inventor, Adolph Schaar.
These "friends" also lied to the public about Schaar's invention, which used a Hammond typewriter keyboard and could send and receive messages by both tape and, contrary to advertising, by page. Burlingame's machine used a Stearns Visible typewriter and could only receive messages in page form.
Los Angeles Herald, June 9, 1907
As well, the Burlingame only worked properly from room to room, not over truly long distances, like the Schaar and the Murray. The received copy was far from a perfect reproduction of the sent message.
The modus operandi of the Burlingame company's directors, led by "Blind Boss" Chris Buckley and his cohorts, was to take one man's invention and profit from it unlawfully, when they weren't entitled to any share of the proceeds. Even putting royalties to one side, Schaar got almost none of the subsequent credit for the telegraphing typewriter, Burlingame was given far too much of it.
In the end, it didn't really matter. Neither the Schaar nor the Burlingame machines ever went into full production. It's the fraudulent behaviour of the Burlingame company that counts.
J.J.Montgomery discovered the electric rectifier while working on the Schaar-Burlingame telegraphing typewriter.
After Buckley and crew employed aviation pioneer John Joseph Montgomery (1858-1911, "The Father of Basic Flying") to get the Schaar-Burlingame machine working, and in the process Montgomery inadvertently stumbled upon the electric rectifier, the Burlingame mob tried to cash in on Montgomery's discovery, at half the going price ($500,000). (A rectifier converts alternating current [AC], which periodically reverses direction, to direct current [DC], which flows in only one direction.)
How innocent was Burlingame in all of this? Well, maybe some of the sins of San Francisco stuck. Five years after the telegraphing typewriter jig was up, on January 7, 1914, Burlingame was sent to jail for two-and-a-half years and fined $10,100 for another fraudulent business activity, across the other side of the country in New York. He had helped swindle investors in the Radio Telephone Company out of millions of dollars. Now that was an act of the devil!
The Burlingame telegraphing typewriter was launched on the market in California in April 1908. The subsequent advertising campaign for it in the Eastern States, starting in October 1908, was extraordinary. The cost of almost daily full-page adverts, mostly containing endorsements for the machine from around the country, must have cost a large fortune - let alone the wide supply of Stearns typewriter-fitted machines, assembled by the US Wireless Printing Telegraph Company in San Francisco, to be endorsed in the first place.
Not all that many of these virtually worthless $10 shares were actually sold from May 1908 to January 1910.
These enormous initial outlays weighed down Burlingame's "invention" before it had even had a chance to get off the ground in the marketplace. Some sales might have helped justify the vast amounts involved in what was listed as a $15 million concern. Indeed, 120,000 of 150,000 $10 shares had been "sold", so at least on paper the Burlingame fraud reached $12 million. As it turned out, no Burlingame machines were ever sold.
The subterfuge included establishing a stock-selling company called Burlingame Underwriters, which allegedly owned 62,000 of the shares. But in real hard cash terms these realised just $82,323 - in other words, less than $1.33 for each $10 share. By the end of 1910, Burlingame shares were worth a mere 20 cents!
Long before then, events had exposed the awful truth, that the Burlingame enterprise was a fake, and thus worthless. The Burlingame company's "stock-jobbing" had become a US-wide scandal. ("Stock-jobbing" is the speculative short-term buying and selling of securities with the intent of generating quick profits. The term is largely used in reference to the South Sea Bubble - an 18th-century stock that literally wiped out the savings of many British citizens.)
The venture was founded on the illegal transfer of the rights to a real "teletyper", the Schaar Tel-Autoprint, itself doomed by these business manipulations to be another Californian flop.
Burlingame had acquired the backing of an Indiana real estate "capitalist" John W.Flinn (1865-), but pretty quickly the illegal means by which the enterprise was being put together and funded, and the machines assembled, started to unravel. It turned out the Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter wasn't by any means Burlingame's original invention, but was based on a Tel-Autoprint invented by Los Angeles telegraph reporter  Adolph H. F. Schaar (1870-1940), of Oakland, California, in 1906. Schaar sold the rights to the USWPTC in 1907, and that's when the misdeeds related to his invention began.
Schaar's "Tel-Autoprint"
The first sign of "trouble at mill" came in mid-February 1909, when USWPTC stockholder Edmund Burke sued San Francisco's infamous "Blind Boss", Christopher Augustine Buckley (1845 -1922), Flinn, Burlingame and other directors for $500,000, claiming Buckley had fraudulently sold all the assets of this company to Flinn and Burlingame's venture without proper authorisation. (Vilified as "what men call  a crook", Buckley was routinely accused in newspapers of corruption, bribery and even felonious crime.) 
Buckley tried another similar stunt when he got Professor Montgomery of Santa Clara College to work on the Schaar machine. Montgomery discovered an electric rectifier in the process and Buckley and his Schaar project cohorts claimed partnership in an invention valued at $500,000. In 1911 the courts found in Montgomery's favour. 
"Blind Boss" Buckley was not blind to the possibilities of a rort.
The USWPTC assets which Buckley had manipulated away from the Tel-Autoprint investors included the rights to Schaar's invention and the company's factory site in Los Angeles, secured to make the Tel-Autoprint in June 1907 (when advertising for the machine started to appear in the San Francisco Call). 
As early as August 1907, one of the team of directors who had joined Flinn and Burlingame in the Buckley scam, one W.H.Valentine, had claimed in Reno, Nevada, that the machine was his invention. This ruse was quickly exposed by the Arizona Republican in Phoenix, which correctly credited Schaar.  As well, the Republican corrected the impression that multi-millionaire Californian Clarence Hungerford Mackay (1874-1938) hadn't already approved the Schaar machine for use by the Postal Telegraph & Cable Corporation, which had just laid a cable between New York and Cuba. Mackay, who took over as Postal president upon the death of his father in 1902, also supervised the completion of the first trans-Pacific cable between the US and the Far East in 1904.
Postal boss Clarence Mackay backed the Schaar invention.
One way or another, strenuous efforts were made by the Burlingame enterprise directors to deny the fact that Schaar had invented the device, including an April 1908 Los Angeles Herald article which gave credit for the Tel-Autoprint to Burlingame:
"His" Tel-Autoprint? Los Angeles Herald, April 3, 1908, before the jig was up.
The first advertisement for the Burlingame machine appeared in the Los Angeles Herald in April 1908 and acknowledged Schaar's invention. Subsequent advertising, in both California and the Eastern States, did not. 
The Tel-Autoprint was also variously referred to in late 1907 as the "Teletype" and the "Telewriter", the former using a Hammond typewriter (as did the Schaar). 
However, it is easy to confuse this work with that started in the same period by the Krums of Chicago. Charles Lyon Krum (1852-1937) and his son Howard Lewis Krum (1883-1961) took up the work of Frank Dillaye Pearne (1876-1927) and developed a teleprinter with Joy Morton (1855-1934) and his son Sterling Morton (1885-1961). Krum machines used Oliver and Blickensderfer typewriters, but were also influenced by the Hammond keyboard.
The first Eastern States advertising for Burlingame's machine appeared in October 1908:
After Edmund Burke had taken Chris Buckley to court in California and exposed the Burlingame sham for what it was, in February 1909, Burlingame himself hightailed it to Boston, looking for other ways to amuse himself with his ill-gotten gains, such as investing in an aircraft and flying it in New York.
Burlingame may have been the first American to fly a monoplane.
But he also got involved in another fraudulent business deal, and this time the law soon caught up with Burlingame. In early 1914 he was jailed for two-and-a-half years, as well as being fine $10,100.
There are plenty of Elmer Burlingame profiles online, many asking what became of him and his company post-1910. Not one of them mentions he was locked up from 1914-16.
By 1912, after the Consolidated Printing Telegraph Company of New York had taken over the stock of the Burlingame company and listed itself as also being worth $15 million - but had promptly gone bankrupt in June 1911 - Munsey's Magazine was calling the Burlingame enterprise "notorious". (Consolidated, by the way, announced it had also acquired the patents, among others, of the perforated typewriter paper device that Gustaf Swenson, of Pittsburgh, had originally assigned to Underwood, the printing telegraph system of New Jersey's Frank B.Rae, assigned to the "New Burlingame Telegraphing Typewriter Company", and the printing telegraph, telegraph transmitter and printing machine of John C. Barclay of New Jersey.) Only at this late stage were there promises of "perfecting a machine"! Sure enough, a machine was produced and it did work. But it didn't save Consolidated from its inevitable fate. The enduring bad vibes from the Burlingame enterprise quickly killed it off. Investors, nonetheless, were still keen to get their hands on the wide range of patents relating to a telegraphing typewriter and an American Printing Telegraph Security Company was formed, with more modest capital of $100,000 ($10 a share). Consolidated shareholders got no purchase in the later company. 
Even then things didn't improve, with lies and deceit persisting, although now Burlingame was off the hook:
The New York Times, December 13, 1912
TNYT, March 3, 1915
TNYT, June 19, 1915
Eventually, in March 1915, Associated Press adopted the Morkrum (Morton and Krum) system across America. At least it was legit.
In outlining the sordid history of Burlingame's "once famous fake", Munsey's said each dollar invested in it and Consolidated ("hopelessly bankrupt ... dead and gone") was a "total loss".
Dreaming of a dark future? A young Elmer Burlingame in Aderdeen, Dakota Territory, with his father Freeborn Wanton Burlingame and mother Isabelle Ann Larkin Burlingame.
So who was the man behind the Burlingame fiasco? Was he simply an inventive, ambitious young inventor who innocently got caught up with a bunch of criminals? Or was he a knowing party to any or all this?
Elmer Allah Burlingame was born in Green Lake, Wisconsin, on June 13, 1879. The family moved to LaPorte, Indiana, in 1895, where Elmer graduated from LaPorte High School and in 1899 started work for the LaPorte Telephone Company, where he remained for eight years. 
Following the collapse of his fake telegraphing typewriter project, in 1910 he moved to Norfolk, Massachusetts. After being released from jail, in 1917 Burlingame was working as a machinist for tin platers Wimslow Brothers in Chicago. He later moved to Gary, Indiana, to rejoin his parents, and in 1930 he was back in business on his own, running an electrical shop. This didn't survive long, either, and Burlingame followed his parents to Long Beach, California, where he died in San Pedro on January 23, 1939, aged 59. 
An obituary stated Burlingame “lost his patents to [his] invention to a large company which ultimately developed the device and made a large fortune from it, although he himself never received the reward entitled to him.” This is patently untrue. Any real rewards were actually due to Schaar. And he got none, as there were none to distribute.
As for Burlingame being, as one biographer had it, "a combination of Tesla, Edison, Steinmetz, Einstein, Alger and Bell", I don't think so.  The biographer himself added, "It was pretty putrid stuff."